


Keep Your Head Still, I'll Be Your Thrill

by mickeydubs



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:18:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7874089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeydubs/pseuds/mickeydubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The transition into college is never easy. For Clarke, meeting Lexa makes it that much more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watching, Waiting

Clarke was a girl who had never excelled at first impressions. She had a tendency to come on too strong. Or, on the rare occasion that she could reel herself in, she tended to be overly aware of coming on too strong and not participate in conversations at all. But it was something she was aware of. As long as she didn’t let herself start rambling right off the bat, she’d be fine.

 

She knew the transition was going to be bumpy; of course it was. She was growing up, living on her own, more or less. Her roommate seemed like someone she’d get along with - a little overly committed to her carefree attitude, admittedly, but Clarke was happy to chalk that up to first-week nerves. Plus, the roommate’s older brother was in a fraternity on campus, giving them free access to all the biggest parties, so any minor character flaws were relatively easy to overlook. 

 

College orientation had been kind to her so far; she had met lots of nice people, and when she looked closely, she could tell that other people were nervous too. It really was like everyone said: they were all making this huge transition. It only made sense that there was a tiny layer of fear in the eyes of the other freshmen she was meeting. It was in her eyes too. 

 

She figured she was slightly more on edge than most, though, because her ex was coming to the same school. She hadn’t seen him around yet, which she was enormously grateful for, but she was anxious about seeing him for the first time since their breakup. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to get it over with or not.

 

It wasn’t that she hated Finn or anything - their breakup had been a mutual agreement that going into this new stage of their lives with strings holding them back in that high school mindset would be a bad idea. But feelings don’t disappear overnight, and they’d both said some things since the split that left the waters a little murky. They had been well matched, as far as high school relationships went. They were both liked by each other’s parents and their friends had gotten well into the habit of commenting on how cute they were together. They both enjoyed the other’s company, spent many nights pretending to study at the other’s house, and won prom king and queen by a landslide. 

 

They’d never said they were in love.

 

Clarke looked herself over in the mirror that hung on the back of her door and mentally praised Octavia for being the roommate to think to bring one. Her jeans were tight but faded over a pair of red converse high tops. She tugged at the ragged hem of her homemade crop top, a plain t-shirt she’d taken a pair scissors to when she’d spilled some coffee on herself in Finn’s car a few months earlier. He never was good at avoiding potholes. 

 

She sighed and pulled her hair back into a simple ponytail, the pink-dyed ends swaying breezily behind her neck. She wasn’t ever one to try too hard when she went out. 

 

Clarke jumped when the door suddenly swung open to reveal Octavia sporting a devilish grin and a bottle of cheap rosé in each hand. She sauntered over to the desk on her side of the room and pulled a corkscrew out of one of the drawers, popping the first bottle with ease. She took a swig, then handed it off to Clarke so she could open the second.

 

“Let’s get this party started.”

 

* * *

 

The bass that bumped from the frat house reached them from about a block away. The school had bought and renovated a whole street of old victorian style houses that were then taken over by the school’s greek system. There was an entire crowd of people already drunkenly stumbling around the lawn when they reached it and strode with a certain level of alcohol-induced confidence up to the front door. Two boys who were most definitely pledges acted as bouncers. One was lanky, his eyes bulging a bit when he saw the two girls approaching. He leaned an elbow on his friend’s shoulder, slumping both of them against the doorframe when neither could keep their balance. 

 

“Evening ladies, admission costs one kiss,” the tall one slurred, slinging his arm around his friend’s shoulders with a conspiratorial smirk.

 

Clarke and Octavia shot each other a look. The shorter boy noted the silent exchange and pushed the taller away, sending him knocking into the other side of the doorframe with a startled but amused expression. “Shut up, Jasper, no one’s... wants to pay that fee.” He giggled at himself for a minute, sensing his inability to properly articulate. He turned to one side, all but curtsied, and waved the two girls inside. “You may enter.”

 

Her mouth still hanging slightly open, Clarke followed Octavia’s lead, pushing past the two into the house with incredulity saturating her face. She was not drunk enough for this yet.

 

Bodies were packed into the house’s entryway. Entering the building was like stepping into another reality. Or the interior of the world’s largest oven. The lights were mostly off; the main source of light was the flashing of strobe light apps from the phones of guys perched on their tippy toes on the backs of the couches that lined the walls. The body heat was instantly overwhelming. 

 

Clarke and Octavia made a beeline for the upperclassman dispensing beers from a keg under the stairs as soon as they were inside. They forced their way through the crowd, dim light obscuring their vision just enough to disguise whatever stickiness was trying to grab ahold of their shoes along the way. Clarke silently prayed it was just beer. 

 

With red solo cups firmly in hand, the two surveyed their surroundings with vague apprehension. Octavia’s eyes flicked rapidly over the faces around the room, searching for her brother; Clarke stuck close to her side, clinging to the one person in the room she knew. The wine that she’d had earlier was hitting her, but she was still aware of herself enough to be nervous talking to new people.

 

“Have you spotted Bellamy yet?”

 

Octavia shook her head, continuing to scan the crowd. Clarke spluttered, nearly choking on her beer when Octavia slapped a hand on her shoulder. “Even better.” She pointed across the room to a tall, muscular guy with a shaved head and tattoos up his arm. “That’s Lincoln. He’s one of my brother’s frat brothers. I’m going to go talk to him.” 

 

Clarke opened her mouth to object but before she could get a word out, Octavia was off. Clarke watched her go, slack jawed and unsure of what to do with herself. 

 

She downed her beer and made her way into the next room where the music was louder. The speakers in the corner were gargantuan, and she could feel her bones vibrating under her skin with every beat of the Blink-182 song blaring throughout the house.

 

She stopped in her tracks the moment she crossed into the room.

 

Finn.

 

He was posted up against the wall directly opposite her, leaning confidently with his hand by the head of a girl who seemed more interested in her drink than whatever he was saying to her. There was no denying that the girl was pretty. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders in unfairly smooth-looking waves, and her face looked like one you’d find on the cover of a magazine. 

 

Clarke felt her chest tighten. Alcohol thrummed in her veins as she chugged the remainder of her beer, and her feet began a march in the direction of the two without her realizing what she was doing. Her brain felt fuzzy inside her skull. Her shoulders bumped nearly every person she passed, and she held up her hands in apology only to wind up accidentally smacking someone’s drink out of their hand. Her eyes couldn’t focus on anything except her ex and the girl he was making a strong effort to chat up. 

 

Her face was hot. Her hands were in fists; she wondered briefly where her cup had gone before remembering that she hurled her cup on the ground when the last of her beer had dribbled into and around her mouth.

 

When, after what felt like several minutes, she reached Finn and his companion, the girl was turning to walk away. Clarke heard her say something about “going to get another drink.” Her eyelids were hooded with inebriation, but her intent to exit the conversation with Finn was clear. 

 

Clarke, hands firmly on her hips, walked right up into their space, partially blocking the girl’s way. She felt herself swaying slightly and steadied herself with a couple staggered steps. The two finally noticed her presence and faced her expectantly. 

 

Clarke opened her mouth and the words “I wanna talk to you” tumbled out from between her lips. Finn blinked at her, taken aback. 

 

The girl, noticeably (even to Clarke’s drunken eyes) unbalanced, grabbed her shoulders. Clarke stilled in surprise. The girl’s words were slurred but still understandable when she uttered, “Talking’s overrated,” and immediately leaned in. 

 

Clarke, unable to hold the both of them up, fell a step backward and the girl’s lips landed sloppily on her chin. Unable to steady herself, the girl’s momentum carried her to the ground. The crowd around them clapped rowdily as someone yelled “Party foul!” 

 

Clarke looked on, wide-eyed and dumbfounded as the girl got back to her feet with extra caution, chuckling at herself the whole time. Without another word, she was off in the direction of the makeshift bar in the other room. 

 

Speechless, Clarke watched her go. It struck her then that maybe talking to Finn tonight wasn’t the best idea. Without another word or a glance back, she tripped her way back through the mess of people toward the front door.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke woke the next morning, it was with a somersaulting stomach and a jackhammer in her skull. Memories of the night before flooded her mind and she groaned, mentally kicking herself for drinking so much and the situation she almost got herself into with Finn.

 

She rolled over and reluctantly checked the time on her phone. Her alarm was set to go off in exactly two minutes. She quickly unlocked her phone and turned the alarm off, knowing the pain her head would be in if she had to listen to the harsh beeping of her wake up call. 

 

She let herself lie in self pity for another thirty seconds before she forced herself to rise and face the day. She pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top. As an afterthought, she slipped a flannel on over her shoulders. 

 

Slow-moving because of her hangover, she didn’t have time to stop in the dining hall before her first class, which was a freshman philosophy seminar that she had no real interest in. She arrived with the crowd and ushered into the most innocuous seat she could find near the middle of the room.

 

The professor entered a couple of minutes after the rush of students. He placed his bag off to the side against a small podium and took up stance in front of the blackboard. 

 

Clarke shrugged off her flannel, hunkered down and sucked at her water bottle, willing the class to go by quickly. 

 

Just as the professor was beginning to introduce himself to the class, the door opened again as a latecomer trudged in. A girl who was clearly at least as hungover as Clarke was paused at the front of the classroom, looking for a seat. Clarke couldn’t stop herself from smirking.  _ Damn, her night must’ve been  _ rough _ , and that’s coming from me. _

 

The girl was still wearing pajamas and a pair of sunglasses despite being indoors, and she had a serious case of bedhead. She moved toward the empty seat in front of Clarke, sipping from a to-go coffee cup in the largest size the student center offered. As she got closer, Clarke raised an eyebrow.  _ Still, she’s kind of hot. _

 

The professor, making no effort to mask his annoyance at the interruption, called the girl out on her sunglasses. Clarke could practically sense the girl rolling her eyes behind the shades. She pulled the sunglasses off her face and tossed them onto the desk that she then dropped into. 

 

Clarke froze for a moment in her chair. 

 

It was the girl from last night. The one Finn was talking to. 

 

The one who fell on the floor after she tried to kiss Clarke.

 

With everyone securely in a desk, the professor resumed his monotonous prattle about himself and what the class would be like. Clarke lost focus almost immediately. 

 

She found herself staring at the back of the girl’s head in front of her. They were seated close enough together that if Clarke leaned forward just a bit, she’d be able to smell the girl’s hair. She started to inch forward, then stopped herself. That would be creepy. 

 

The girl reached behind her head and flipped her hair over the back of her chair, granting Clarke a whiff anyway. It was a surprisingly nice scent. Clarke had been sure the girl would still have a leftover booze stench clinging to her given her appearance that morning. 

 

For a moment Clarke questioned why she was even thinking about what the girl smelled like.  _ No, you know what, this is normal. She can’t try to kiss you and then not expect you to be curious about her. That’s all there is to this. _

 

The professor droned on for another couple of minutes, going over each bullet point on the syllabus, before the girl pulled a laptop and a pair of earbuds out of her backpack. Clarke watched in awe as she signed into Netflix and blatantly checked all the way out of the lecture. She had to be insane. It was only the first day, did she really not care about making a bad first impression on the professor? 

 

_ What is she even watching? Who is this girl? _

 

When at last the lecture ended, Clarke heaved a relieved sigh and stood. She bent down to pick up her flannel, which had slipped onto the floor; just as she straightened back up, the girl in front of her turned to collect her own things. They locked eyes and froze simultaneously. 

 

Clarke swallowed, opening and closing her mouth a couple of times before she could speak. 

 

“Hi.”

 

The girl blinked once, eyes wide as an owl’s. 

 

“Shit.”


	2. Commiserating

The other students, and their professor, filed out of the classroom, most not giving the two girls who remained frozen by their desks even a passing glance. 

 

After a beat of shocked silence, Clarke managed to close her mouth and shake herself from her stupor. Time had seemed to stop briefly when the two made eye contact. 

 

Clarke did her best to ignore the blush she could feel creeping into her cheeks. She lifted her flannel to her waist and tied it deftly before she extended a hand to the girl before her, whose jaw appeared fused in the open position. 

 

“I’m Clarke. I take it you remember meeting me last night,” she joked in an attempt to save face and keep some semblance of cool. The girl slowly reached out her own hand, eyes wide, and accepted Clarke’s proffered shake. Her body flooded with heat as the girl continued to stare. Their joined hands moved steadily up and down in silence for a moment. “And your name is…”

 

The girl blinked as her cheeks reddened. She shook her head at herself and pushed her hair back with the hand that wasn’t still grasping Clarke’s. “Sorry, um, I’m just trying to think of any explanation for me trying to kiss you and then puking on your shoes that isn’t just me being a girl who’s never had a drink before getting to college and not having any concept of what my limits are.” Her eyes dropped back to her feet in embarrassment even as she chuckled softly at herself.

 

Clarke’s lips pulled back in an amused grin. “Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us. Anyway, you didn’t puke on my shoes, so you’re good on that front at least.”

 

The girl let out a sigh that seemed to occupy her whole body. “Someone else I owe an apology to then.” She finally dropped the handshake. “I’m Lexa.” She hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder and gave a half smile. “Sorry again.”

 

Clarke watched as Lexa turned to go. Before she knew what she was doing, she yanked her own backpack into place and jogged after her. “Hey listen,” she dropped a hand on Lexa’s shoulder as the girl was about to pull her headphones from around her neck back up to her ears. She halted and faced Clarke expectantly. 

 

Clarke licked her lips, which suddenly felt a little dry. She didn’t know why, but something inside her urged her to get to know this girl better. “I told my roommate I would meet up with her for lunch after class, any chance you want to join?”

 

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze for a few seconds before her eyes dipped temporarily to the floor and one corner of her mouth quirked up in another slightly lopsided smirk. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke and Lexa were both laughing hysterically by the time they neared the end of their ten minute walk from the building that housed their seminar to the dining hall. In an attempt to alleviate some of Lexa’s embarrassment, Clarke recounted the story of her own first drunk vomiting incident; the tale began with her and her friend Wells sneaking a bottle of tequila from her parents’ liquor cabinet and ended with the two of them slumped on a swing set at their town’s community park, lifting their toes at the apex of their lazy oscillations to avoid puddles of their own puke.

 

Clarke spotted Octavia standing outside the dining hall, focus concentrated on her phone, and called out to her. “Who you texting there? Wouldn’t happen to be a rugged, tattooed frat brother would it?” 

 

Octavia lifted a middle finger, her eyes only following suit after she finished a text with her other hand. When she did look up, her mouth and brow both drooped into a confused frown. Clarke took note of it, but decided against addressing it in favor of introductions. “Octavia, this is Lexa. She’s in that philosophy class with me. Lexa, Octavia.” 

 

Octavia’s lips pursed. Lexa bobbed her head politely and offered a simple, “Hey.”

 

Octavia crossed her arms as she gave Lexa a conspicuous once-over. “Cool, cool, cool. Hey. Say, Lexa, is it? Random question: you wouldn’t happen to have puked on anyone’s shoes recently would you?” Her eyebrows raised indignantly as she watched Lexa’s face fall into an expression of realization then horror. 

 

Lexa’s mouth hung open for the second time that day as an uncomfortable silence stretched out between the three of them. 

 

Clarke’s head swiveled back and forth as if she were at a tennis match glancing back and forth between her and Octavia, who glowered at Lexa with her hands planted firmly on her hips. 

 

“Shit,” she whispered to herself. This was not how she had hoped this would go. “So!” Clarke started, desperate to diffuse the situation, “Um, who’s hungry? I’m starving. You? Let’s eat.” She marched toward the doors, checking over her shoulder every couple of seconds to make sure both of her new friends were following.

 

The three entered the dining hall together, one glaring, one staring very intently straight ahead, and one attempting to alleviate the tension. 

 

Lunch proceeded as an awkward affair. Clarke tried her best to start conversations, but every time she stopped talking and left the air open for one of the other two to speak, she was barraged with the sound of Lexa apologizing and Octavia responding with snide comebacks.

 

“I’m so sorry about your shoes.”

 

“You know someone already posted on yik yak about me for putting sneakers in the washing machine and keeping them awake? They were not very forgiving.”

 

“I’ll write back to them and tell them it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“It’s an anonymous app, it won’t make a difference.”

 

The conversation lulled briefly as the three of them pushed food around their plates, occasionally stabbing a morsel with a fork and eating it uncomfortably. Clarke watched Lexa’s eyes dart back and forth between her plate and Octavia. 

 

Lexa swallowed forcefully and spoke again. “I can buy you a new pair if you want, really.”

 

“Honestly, I’m just impressed you’re even functioning this soon after that display last night.” 

 

“Okay!” Clarke interjected before things went any further downhill. “A month from now we’ll all be laughing about this I’m sure.” 

 

Lexa and Octavia both swiveled their heads, each flashing her their own looks of incredulity. Clarke bit her tongue when the two rolled their eyes at her in sync. 

 

When she pointed it out, Lexa and Octavia made cautious eye contact before locking their eyes on their individual plates.

 

She chuckled and popped a blueberry into her mouth, thinking to herself that this was surely the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

 

* * *

 

Alone in her dorm room, Clarke lounged on her bed, one leg dangling off the side of the too-narrow extra long twin. Sunlight spilled through the window over her shoulder, casting a dusty glare over the screen of her phone, which she was using to scroll through old facebook photos from high school. The only sound in the room was the soft tapping of her thumb on her phone’s screen as she dragged her feed further into the past.

 

She sighed at the sight of her own, slightly younger, smiling face gazing back at her. 

 

She hated herself for letting nostalgia get to her.

 

College was going to be better than high school, that much she knew without a doubt, but she couldn’t help looking at the self she embodied a year earlier and wishing, just a little bit, for things to be as simple and easy as they were back then. School had been a breeze. She had had the same circle of friends since she was in kindergarten. That’s the same friend group since she was five years old! And whether or not those friends had stuck by her because they had known her for so long more than because they really had much in common or valued each other’s personality traits, when she was in high school, Clarke never had to worry about who she would sit with at lunch or if she would have plans on the weekends. 

 

She had been with Finn, and even though it was clear that she wanted different things than he did and had only really agreed to date him because it was what had made sense regarding her social life, she couldn’t deny that there had been a certain comfort in having a romantic life that more or less took care of itself.

 

She exhaled heavily through her nose and clicked out of her own page back to the facebook homepage. Lexa, whom she had added as a friend immediately after their tension-filled lunch with Octavia and immediately before inviting them to have some reconciliation glasses of wine, appeared at the top of her newsfeed, having just added Octavia as a friend as well. She grinned to herself, feeling extremely self-satisfied at having facilitated that friendship’s formation. 

 

A sharp knock at her door startled Clarke into an upright position. Her heart pounded suddenly in her chest. For some reason she had a feeling that it was Lexa at the door, and she couldn’t explain it, but Clarke felt wholly unprepared to have Lexa in her room at that moment. The back of her neck felt strangely hot. She had just been sitting in front of a sunny window, after all.

 

Another knock jolted her to her feet, and she glanced frantically around in case there was anything that needed straightening away. One look at her room reminded her that she was a complete slob and literally everything needed straightening away, and then she shook her head at herself for even having that impulse. She’d never been one to clean up for guests to a greater degree than moving the dirty clothes that normally lived all over her floor in the direction of her hamper. 

 

Clarke called out, “I’m coming!” as a third knock came at the door, the raps on the wood growing resigned. She licked her lips as she leapt over the pile of books that stood between her and the door. Part of her mind registered that they were chapped, and she licked them again. 

 

She yanked the door open, an apology ready on her tongue, but when she saw the face on the other side of the threshold, all that fell from her mouth was a quiet “oh.” 

 

Finn stood across from her, his hands held behind his back and the color in his face washed out by the fluorescent lights in the dorm’s hallway. “Hi.”

 

Clarke blinked forcefully, stunned by his presence. “Um,” she swallowed, “uh, what are you doing here?” 

 

Finn’s eyes lit up, appearing surprised that he had been given an opportunity to explain himself. He bounced once on the balls of his feet, then launched into an explanation with a disproportional amount of enthusiasm for the greeting he’d just received. 

 

“Okay, so, I know I’m totally just showing up out of the blue here, but I just want to say that even though we broke up over the summer, I miss you a lot and, you know, this is a crazy time of change in our lives and um, you’re really great and we were like, so good together and I’ve been thinking, you know, why shouldn’t we make this transition into college together?” He paused to take a long breath in after expelling all of those words in one long exhalation. “So anyway, I hope you’ll consider taking me back.”

 

He finished speaking with a nod that sent his hair flopping over his eyes momentarily. He flashed a dopey grin and brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing a small, slightly drooping sunflower in a clay pot. She watched silently as he held it out to her. “Don’t answer now,” he said, gaining confidence as he went along. “Just think about it, okay?” He blew out one final, exuberant breath, and was gone as quickly as he’d shown up. 

 

Clarke remained in front of her open door for what felt like several minutes, disbelief effectively immobilizing her. 

 

Not only had her ex shown up out of nowhere wanting to get back together, but the gift he had presented her with during his proposal of reconciliation was something she was aggravatingly allergic to. She could almost feel the pollen agitating her immune system the longer she held onto the thing. 

 

Clarke held the sunflower at arm’s length as she heaved a deep sigh and walked it out to the trash can in her dormitory’s common room. 


	3. Say It Ain't So

Clarke rubbed her eyes in frustration as she attempted, for what felt like the fifteenth time, to take notes from the assigned readings for her philosophy seminar. The library was relatively empty, as it was a Friday afternoon. Clarke desperately wanted to follow her fellow students’ lead and abandon her assignments as well, but she knew that with all of the work for her other classes she’d let pile up over the course of the week, if she didn’t at least make an attempt at the articles her professor had assigned, she would fall behind in the blink of an eye. 

 

She turned to Raven, who was also in the class and was quickly becoming one of her favorite people to hang around and complain about homework with. Raven was the kind of person who was blatantly smart in certain subjects, but when faced with a topic that didn’t fall under her area of expertise or didn’t interest her, immediately looked for someone to bitch about it to. Philosophy, Clarke learned early on, was not a subject that Raven was an expert in or cared about even a little bit. 

 

Clarke snapped the top onto her highlighter and dropped it on her notebook with an exasperated flourish. She slumped over the table, resting her cheek on one of her multiple open textbooks, and sighed dejectedly in the direction of her companion.

 

“I don’t get this stuff at all. Do you get any of this?” she asked, gesturing to the various books and handouts scattered around her.

 

Raven, who had been typing rapidly on her laptop since they had arrived at the library, didn’t look up from her screen when she answered. “What that philosophy shit? Dude, I gave up on that like an hour ago.”

 

Clarke looked at her new friend in amusement. “Raven, we only  _ got here _ an hour ago.”

 

Raven adopted a self-satisfied smirk as she continued tapping away at her keyboard. “Okay, then I gave up on it 59 minutes ago.” She shook her head, pretending that Clarke’s skepticism was unreasonable.

 

Clarke rolled her eyes even as she suppressed a chuckle. “So what are you typing over there if you’re not taking notes, then?”

 

“Texting Octavia. She really wants to go to this party tonight. She’s trying to convince me to come and rope you in for good measure.”

 

Clarke bit the tip of her tongue as she considered the proposition. It wasn’t like any of the three of them didn’t like parties, but if Octavia had to work to convince Raven, then there was definitely a factor at play that would deter her and Clarke from wanting to go.

 

Clarke’s eyes narrowed as she asked, “Who’s hosting?”

 

The corners of Raven’s mouth tilted downward in a brief, exaggerated frown. “It’s another of her brother’s frat parties. Octavia only wants us to come to distract Bellamy so she can make her move on what’s his name without any… how did she put it?” She scanned her screen for the exact wording. “Ah, here it is, without any ‘annoying older brotherly interference.’ Her words.” 

 

Clarke stifled her laughter, for some reason tickled by Octavia’s choice of words and Raven’s refusal to let her casual demeanor slip even to acknowledge that she knows the name of the guy her friend was interested in. “What’s his name being Lincoln? He’s been following her around like a puppy since the first party of the year, why does she need to ‘make a move?’” 

 

Raven laughed along with her, drawing the eyes of the few people at the surrounding tables who were actually studying. “I don’t know any better than you do, Griffin. Just telling you what she told me.”

 

Clarke considered the proposition. “I don’t know… Are you going?”

 

Raven shrugged as she lifted her arms to link her hands behind her head. She leaned back in her chair, tipping it backward onto two legs. “I guess. I mean, frat party equals free booze so… I don’t know who we’re kidding here, you know free drinks trumps shitty boys.”

 

Clarke made a face. “But frat bros are so, just,  _ ugh _ , you know?”

 

“Well duh. But putting them in their place and taking over their pong games and dance floors is half the fun of a party. Plus, every time they throw down, they name the person who wins the most rounds of pong that night’s ‘Commander,’ and I am so gunning for that title.” Raven spread her hands as though that had closed the case.

 

Clarke puffed her cheeks out as it became clear that Raven wasn’t going to concede. She rolled her head around in a circle as Raven waggled her eyebrows, not wanting to be the one to give in so easily but knowing that of the two of them, Raven would always hold out just a little longer. 

 

Clarke threw her hands up, signalling defeat. “Alright, alright. I guess we’re going to the party.”

 

* * *

 

True to her word, Raven had disappeared almost immediately to “hit the little girls’ room” and her voice could be heard periodically from the kitchen, where a beer pong tournament was underway.

 

The house was as dark and as loud as ever. Octavia, Clarke, and Raven had arrived together, three, four, and five hard ciders deep respectively. Bellamy was manning the keg, so they killed two birds with one stone when the three of them approached him, each got a beer, and Clarke launched into a conversation to give Octavia the opportunity to slip away and find Lincoln. Raven stuck around just long enough to scan the first floor for the location of the drinking games tables and quietly split off to pursue them.

 

Clarke leaned heavily against the wall, a solid buzz keeping her happy despite her roommate’s brother not picking up on the fact that she had no interest in him whatsoever. She swirled her beer lazily, willing the foam in her cup to dissipate. 

 

Bellamy, who was far drunker than she was, sat on top of the keg with the tap between his legs. Clarke suspected it was because he couldn’t stand up without falling over. He was droning on about how cool it was to live in a party house and be in a fraternity, pausing every so often to squirt beer into his mouth directly from the keg. 

 

Clarke turned a yawn into what she hoped looked like an enthusiastic nod as Bellamy shifted into a story about the last party they’d hosted, at which his friend Murphy had done a keg stand that lasted two full minutes. 

 

Octavia and Lincoln had vanished since the last time Clarke had looked around the room, so as she took another swig from the cup that Bellamy had just refilled for the second time, she searched frantically for an excuse to leave his company. 

 

“I’m going to go look for Raven,” was poised on her lips, when the front door opened, releasing some of the hot air that had been trapped inside the house and marking the entrance of one Finn Collins. 

 

Clarke whirled around and was suddenly incredibly interested in whatever it was Bellamy was talking about. She took a step closer to him and placed her free hand on his shoulder. Half interrupting him, she laughed raucously, a little too loudly and said, “Wow, that is so…” she struggled to remember what the topic of conversation was, “cool?”

 

Emboldened by her reaction, Bellamy let his gaze dip to her chest as he placed a hand on her waist. “You like that, Princess, let me tell you about the time…” Clarke tuned out again as she glanced over her shoulder. Finn, who had clearly been watching her actions, averted his gaze and pushed through the crowd into another room.

 

Clarke turned back to Bellamy, whose eyes were hooded with intoxication and hand was slowly working its way from her hip to her ass. She plucked his hand from her body, held it out at arm’s length, and dropped it back in his own lap with a stern look.

 

“Listen dude,” she said warningly over the music that continued to blare throughout the house, “you’re hot and everything, but I just needed to look like I was into you so my ex wouldn’t come over here and try to talk to me. Thanks for the beer though.”

 

Bellamy stood up from his perch on the keg, swaying slightly, but managing to remain upright with a misguided grin. “All I heard from that was that you think I’m hot.”

 

Clarke’s mouth hung open just a bit. She hadn’t been lying, the guy was very attractive, but there was something inside her that made Clarke push back on his advances. Whether it was because it would be too weird to hook up with her roommate-turned-close-friend’s brother or something else, she was too drunk to decipher at that time.

 

“You are, objectively, yeah, but,” she scrambled for a way out and settled on a half-truth, “I’m gay. Bye!” 

 

She turned and snaked her way through enough people that he couldn’t easily follow, though it was unclear if he would try. When she looked back at him, he was watching her with confusion and disappointment all over his face.

 

Clarke almost felt bad for deserting him so suddenly, until he looked as if he was going to follow after her, at which point she knew she needed a scapegoat. 

 

A familiar face appeared, and Clarke had never felt so happy to see a person in her whole life. 

 

“Lexa!” She ran up and grabbed her new friend by the elbow. 

 

Locking eyes with Bellamy, she gestured to Lexa, linking their arms. She gave Bellamy her best attempt at an apologetic expression, then dragged the girl out of his line of vision. There was a bathroom located immediately outside the room they had been in, and she slipped inside, pulling Lexa in behind her. 

 

Clarke leaned over the sink, drunkenness making it difficult for her to focus as she regarded Lexa, who was finishing off a bottle of wine, in the mirror. The brunette’s eyebrows were raised, still surprised at having been dragged into the frat house’s disgusting restroom. “Um. Hello, Clarke.”

 

A short glance at her own reflection showed that Clarke’s face had flushed in tandem with the sound of Lexa’s voice, but that she chalked up to the alcohol. She sighed and dropped her head before she turned around. “I’m so sorry, Lexa. You’re the second person tonight I’ve pretended to be interested in to get someone else off my back.”

 

Lexa smirked as she staggered a couple of steps closer to Clarke. “Well hey, if you really want to give them a show, I’m your girl.” By the smugness on her face, it was apparent that Lexa thought she was moving and speaking with some degree of swagger. Her voice dropped to the closest thing she could get to a whisper in her inebriated state when she went on. “You know I played like five games of pong in a row earlier. I’m pretty sure these guys think I’m their Commander now.” She nodded, half to herself and half to Clarke, as if this bit of information was something to be very impressed by.

 

In response, Clarke simply raised her eyebrows and did her best not to giggle. In the enclosed space, her heart rate had increased, and she had grown inexplicably anxious, so she decided it was better if she didn’t speak. 

 

After a prolonged beat of silence, Lexa understood Clarke’s expression and, in all of her non-sober glory, comically facepalmed in embarrassment. “Sorry, um. I am realizing now as we stand here in this small bathroom that even if we were to, uh, put on a show, the whole being in the small bathroom thing means no one would see that show. Also I’m very drunk and when I am drunk my filter goes away and obviously you’re,” she paused to hiccup, “very pretty but we are new friends and that is the more important thing so we should pretend that I didn’t say that.”

 

Clarke shook her head, immensely entertained by her friend’s drunken speech. She smiled at Lexa, more flattered than anything. “Consider it forgotten.” 

 

She watched as Lexa’s shoulders dropped in relief. Somehow, Clarke knew that forgetting the moment that had just transpired was likely easier said than done. 

 

She surveyed Lexa’s face as the brunette took another gulp of her, by then nearly empty, wine bottle. Clarke looked on as the girl’s eyes closed gracefully when the liquid hit her lips, noticed the way her deft fingers wrapped elegantly around the bottle’s neck. 

 

Clarke blinked herself out of her observatory reverie. 

 

“So!” she said with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm, “Want to head back out there? I think the coast is probably clear of Bellamy - I’m sure he’s latched on to some other unfortunate soul by now.” She eased her tone, not wanting to scare Lexa off. “Plus, your wine is gone. I’ll get you another drink, if you want.”

 

Lexa’s eyes twinkled as she tipped her head back to drain the literal last drops from her bottle before she nodded in agreement.

 

Clarke chuckled, reaching for the doorknob. “I think I spotted a bottle of rum on the mantle out there, if we can snag some soda or something from the kitchen we’re in business.”

 

Clarke almost felt compelled to take Lexa’s hand, but stopped in her tracks when the door swung open to reveal Finn, who had clearly been waiting on the other side. He must have been leaning against the door itself, as he started to fall inside the room for a second before he caught himself.

 

“Hey, Clarke,” he said, running a somewhat embarrassed hand through his shaggy hair. “I, uh, thought I saw you come in here. Can we talk?”

 

Clarke batted her eyes as panic rose in her chest. Whatever he had to say to her, she was too drunk to deal with and probably didn’t want to hear even if she were sober.

 

Lexa shuffled her feet beside her, and Clarke suddenly, for some reason, felt very much in the middle of the two. She glanced back and forth between Finn’s beseeching look and Lexa’s subtle avoidance of eye contact. 

 

Clarke’s body was hot, and this time she was sure that it wasn’t just from the alcohol. She watched Finn’s hand started to reach out for her, seemingly in slow motion, and all she knew was that the last thing she wanted in the world was to be touched by him in that moment.

 

Before she knew what she was doing, Clarke grabbed ahold of Lexa’s face with both hands and pressed their lips together with a deep inhale. Lexa stumbled backward at the force of the kiss, but kept their mouths connected. When her surprise subsided, Lexa brought her hands up to rest at the small of Clarke’s back, gently pulling her body into her own.

 

After what might or might not have been a very long moment, Clarke pulled out of the kiss with a soft pop. Lexa’s eyes remained closed for several seconds and a small grin lingered in her expression when she breathed, “Shit.”

 

Clarke’s breathing was still heavy. Her head whipped toward Finn at the sound of his voice when he also gruffly uttered the word, “Shit,” before he stormed away.

 

Clarke, hands still cupping Lexa’s cheeks, watched him go, conflicted heart beating angrily along to the music thrumming through the walls. “Shit.”


End file.
